


Entrance Exam

by SamanthaCrowe



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Bomb shelter, Bunker, F/M, Oral Sex, Post-Apocalypse, Sanctuary, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:22:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21998197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaCrowe/pseuds/SamanthaCrowe
Summary: Life after the apocalypse is so mind-numbingly boring, and soul-crushingly lonely, all I do every day is pray for a rescue. One day, I hear the sound of my salvation, coming from above.
Relationships: Michael Langdon/Original Female Character(s), Michael Langdon/Reader, Michael Langdon/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	Entrance Exam

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you’re trapped with your family over the holidays and the stir-craziness starts to get to you!

There was a turning point a few years back, when I started to understand that my brother was not just a casual hobbyist, he’d gone off the preparedness deep end. He’d shown up at Christmas, excited about the *six* different types of gas masks he’d purchased. A few months later, he started breaking ground on a bomb shelter, and shortly thereafter, I learned that he’d taken out a second mortgage to pay for it. “All debts will get erased when the bombs drop,” he said.

He has a wife, and they have l two boys. I think that when she married him, she knew he had some eccentricities, and found it weirdly charming. I don't know how he had convinced her to get swept up in his madness along with him, but he had. The two of them had worked tirelessly on the shelter for nearly two years, bringing in contractors to build the ventilation system, stockpiling years’ worth of food and water, learning the ins and outs of hydroponic gardening. I’d watched it happen, certain he was driving himself to financial and psychological ruin, but I’d been powerless to do anything about it.

And now, his “hobby” is what’s keeping me alive. When the bombs had dropped on the large metropolitan areas, we’d had enough time to scramble into the shelter before any more bombs, or any fallout, hit us in rural Arizona. And now my brother and his family, my mom and stepdad, my sister-in-law’s parents, their yippy little Shih Tzu, and I are all co-existing in the underground bunker that my brother’s debt and questionable sanity had created. 

At first, there was the shock of it all. That the world was indeed ending, that we were among the privileged few who’d survived, that my brother had actually been *right.* That astonished feeling carried us through the first few months, and then we all started to feel the satisfaction that comes with falling into a cozy routine. But then months had stretched into a year, and now it’s 18 months post-apocalypse… and I am *over* it.

I had just turned 30 when the bombs started dropping. Despite living more-or-less in the middle of nowhere, I’d found myself a groovy little community of like-minded people—artists, atheists, queers, and pagans. We worked uninteresting day jobs, and we spent our evenings drinking and dancing around bonfires, broadening our minds, playing games, getting wasted, and spreading merriment. I missed them all terribly.

When I’d heard about the first round of bombs, I texted all my friends immediately, telling them to come to my brother’s place. I told them we’d make room in the shelter, no matter how many people showed up. But none of the messages went through. The lines of communication were already down. I went to my brother’s and waited, hoping that some of them would remember that I had a nutty brother with a bomb shelter. But no one showed. And as the night fell and my family grew more anxious, we sealed up the hatch and went underground. 

I don’t know if my friends had forgotten about my brother, had tried to make it to us but were too late, or had died on the way there… or just didn’t think of me at all in their final hours. And would never know. These days, I have nothing but time to sit and ponder these questions. 

My existence is dreadfully boring and painfully lonely. Every other adult in the shelter has a spouse. Someone to talk to, connect with, and keep their hopes alive. But I have no one. I spend my days fantasizing about getting out, getting rescued. Finding a community of people my age, people I could connect with. And hopefully at least one person who would fuck me.

My brother stresses the importance of keeping our circadian rhythms intact. No sunlight actually reaches us underground, but he tries to manufacture daytime and nighttime with full-spectrum lighting and strict adherence to a schedule. I have a hard time sleeping, though. That’s why one morning, when some peculiar noises drift down the shaft at about 3:00 in the morning, I’m the only one who hears them. _Was that… a horse?_

Everything my brother had said to me, all of the safety rules he’d put in place, are telling me to sit still, stay quiet, and hope that whoever is making those sounds passes by and doesn’t notice us. But I hear the sounds again, a few moments later. I wait another minute or two, and hear another whinny. _Someone is up there._

I tiptoe over to the entrance to the shelter. There is a room at the bottom of the shaft that extends down from the sealed hatch. I step into that room and close the door behind me, continuing to listen. I’m not even sure if I hear anything anymore, but curiosity is getting the best of me. I grab one of the radiation suits hanging on a wall hook, step into it quickly, and climb up the ladder to the entrance. I open and lift the hatch just an inch or two and poke my head up.

It’s dark, but the moonlight has struck the smog-filled sky in a way that illuminates the ground surprisingly well. The hatch to the shelter is located on the edge of my brother’s property, on the banks of a stream. I can see a horse-drawn carriage down by the water, its two horses bending down to take a drink.

_No human would allow that to happen._ That water is contaminated, and will kill those horses within days. I conclude that these horses had somehow escaped their owner—or outlived their owner—and were running wild with a carriage still attached. They’d have a much better chance of surviving if they were freed. And maybe that carriage has some supplies in it that would be useful to us? I decide to head over and check it out.

I climb up and silently close the hatch behind me, not wanting to scare the horses. I walk over to them, marveling at how bright it is outside in the middle of the night. As I get closer, I can see that they’re in rough shape already; they have visible tumors and sores. “Oh, you poor things,” I whisper, and they turn and look at me. I hold out my hands and step slowly toward them. “It’s OK,” I say. “I’m here to help.” They stay put, watching me approach with caution.

I get close enough to grab the bridle on one of them, and I start to fiddle with the buckle. It hadn’t occurred to me how tricky it would be to maneuver through the gloves on the rad suit, and I start to struggle with the mechanism. I’m totally focused on getting my fingers to cooperate, when I hear, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” from behind me. My heart leaps out of my chest and I whip around. A man, also dressed in a rad suit, is standing just a few inches from me. 

“Oh!” I exclaim, terrified. That voice, so cool and calm and wildly intimidating, had struck an intense fear in my heart. I start stuttering, “I wasn’t trying to steal anything, I promise. I thought they were trapped, that they wouldn’t be drinking this water if they had an owner…” I trail off, realizing that I may have just insulted this man.

He doesn’t seem phased. “I only need them to last another day or two,” he says.

“Oh,” I respond. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…” _Fuck. This is not good._

“So where did you come from?” He asks. I can’t very well answer that. I cannot divulge to this stranger that there is a shelter anywhere near here.

“Oh, just walking though,” I attempt to lie.

He chuckles at that, and the sound of his laughter makes my knees weak. “Sure you are. In a sparkling clean rad suit. Without a single supply on you.” I’m silent as a stone, with no idea what to do or say. He holds up his hands. “I’m not trying to scare you; just trying to educate you. This is a very dumb thing you’ve done.” 

“I see that, now,” I say.

“No need to worry. I don’t want to kill you or eat you or take any of your supplies. I’m on a journey, and just needed a place to let the horses rest for a moment. I’ll be on my way again soon.”

When he says that, I feel a tinge of… sadness? Even though I cannot see his face, the discussion that I’m having with this man is the most scintillating thing that’s happened to me in months. I’m determined to keep him talking. “Where are you headed?”

“My dearest friend and advisor is in a shelter near Los Angeles. I’m on my way to retrieve her and take her back to my home.”

“And where is that?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Now, now; I’m not going to tell you all my secrets right away.”

I nod. “Fair enough. If I might just ask, do you live… alone? With a community?”

“There are about 90 people in our Sanctuary.”

“Oh, wow, how wonderful. I’m dying of loneliness over here,” I blurt out. Revealing details about my living situation is a _bad idea,_ but I don’t seem to be able to stop myself. 

“I can imagine,” he says. 

His voice had this soothing quality, a level of empathy that I haven’t heard in ages. I feel this urge to spill my guts to him, like he’s my therapist or something. “I’m not alone; I’m with my family. But I don’t feel like I connect to any of them—they’re all Christians, and married, and we have nothing in common…” _Holy shit, stop talking._

He nods. “Not a fan of Christians?”

“Not particularly,” I respond. 

“You might fit in well in our Sanctuary,” he says.

My heart starts pounding. _Is this the rescue I’ve been waiting for?_ I try not to sound too eager. “Oh yeah?” I ask.

“Could we step inside for a moment? I’d like to ask you a few questions.” Once again, I hear my brother in my head, screaming at me to turn, run, protect our shelter and get away from this guy. But what he’s offering me… it’s everything I’d been wishing for for months and months. 

“My family is all asleep. I’m afraid we’d wake them,” I say. 

“Don’t worry. They won’t wake up,” he says. I don’t know how he knows that… but I just… believe him. He seems to know what he’s talking about. _And he’s offering me an escape._

“OK, this way,” I say. I walk back toward the hatch, and he follows me. My heartbeat is pounding in my ears but I have to confess it’s not because I am scared of the danger that I’m imposing on my family; it’s because I am excited. I pop open the hatch and step aside so that he can go down first, then I climb in after him and close the hatch behind me. 

At the bottom of the ladder, we stand there in our rad suits, facing each other wordlessly. He reaches around and releases the clasp on the back of his head; I hear the faint hiss of the vacuum coming unsealed. He drops his head forward and pulls the helmet off, then raises his head and looks me in the eye. I gasp. He is, in a word, beautiful. He has long honey-blonde hair that’s as smooth as silk, finely chiseled features, and these crystal blue eyes that seem to bore through to my soul. My breath quickens and I start to feel faint. He’s looking at me, seemingly waiting for something. _Oh yeah,_ I realize. _My own suit._

I yank my helmet and suit off in one quick gesture, revealing that I still have my hair in a messy ponytail, and I’m still wearing my less-than-exciting pajamas—a gray tank top and black yoga pants. His eyes look me up and down, lingering on the tattoos on my chest and arms. He slides his arms out of his rad suit and reaches out to grab my right hand; he glides his fingers over the snake that runs down my forearm, positioned to take a bite of the apple at my wrist. He looks back up at me, his eyebrows raised. “Temptation?” he asks.

I nod. “The notion that Eve was a sinner is such patriarchal bullshit. We all give into temptation at some point.”

He smiles at me, and my knees go weak. “Some more than others.” He finishes sliding the rad suit off and I can finally take him all in. He’s taller than me, with broad shoulders, dressed entirely in black. He has this refined, otherworldly quality to his movements, which matches the smooth ethereal tone of his voice. _Holy fuck he is sexy._ I don’t really know what I am getting myself into here, but I haven’t felt a longing this intense in years. 

“This way,” I say, gesturing for him to follow me. I take him to my room, which is really more like a cell—enough room for my cot and little else. But it’s got a door than I can close, to lessen the chance we’ll wake anyone up. He takes a seat on my cot and looks up at me, expectantly. “Can I get you anything? Some water, or some food?”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says, gesturing for me to sit down next to him. I do, and he quickly twists himself sideways, sitting cross-legged and facing me. I do the same. 

“So you want to come to the Sanctuary,” he says.

I shrug. “I want to get away from here, that’s for sure.” 

He looks around the cell. “I can’t see why. You’ve got a roof over your head, food, a bed… what more do you need?”

“That’s all well and good, but I’m going mad here. _I have no one to talk to._ I’d rather risk leaving, and being among my own kind, than staying here and talking to the walls.”

“And what are your own kind?”

“My friends… they are—well, they were—a bunch of free-thinkers, like me. Atheists, activists, pacifists… we were a real ‘live deep and suck all the marrow’ kind of group. And without them, I’m just kinda wasting away. I need more stimulation than I’m getting, talking to my brother about filtration systems.”

He chuckles at that a bit, but then his face turns serious. “You shouldn’t take your family for granted. They love you, and that’s a lot more than most people can say.” 

I nod. “I know. I’m lucky. But it’s just not enough.”

“Well, I think the people at the Sanctuary could relate to that. There’s not a Christian among us, that’s for sure.” He grabs my left wrist, and runs his fingers over my Leviathan Cross tattoo. “Explain this one,” he says. 

I smile at him. “It’s the atomic symbol for sulphur.”

He doesn’t smile back. “I know what it is.”

I shrug at him. “Most people don’t know what it is, and I like that. It’s subtle. 

“It’s Satanic,” he says.

I nod. “The adversary. A figure who was demonized for asking too many questions. I just… relate to Satan, as a character. I don’t worship him or anything. I’m an atheist.”

He looks me in the eyes. “So you don’t worship anyone or anything?”

“No, sir,” I say, realizing for the first time that I don’t know his name

He takes ahold of my other wrist. “I think you belong with us,” he says. “You’d like the Sanctuary. It’s full of people hand-selected by me. They’re free-thinkers, atheists, activists… I think you’re just the kind of person we’re looking for. But you would need to worship someone,” he says.

“Who?” I ask. 

He stands up, keeping a firm hold on my wrists and dragging me along with him, until my legs are off the bed and I’m on my knees in front of him. 

“Me,” he answers, dropping my hands and starting to unbuckle his pants. 

For a moment, I’m frozen, aghast, looking up at him. I remain there long enough to acknowledge all the red flags that my brain is trying to throw up, and to make a unilateral decision. _Fuck it._ I want this. 

He’s got his pants unbuckled and is working on the zipper; I reach up and take over for him. He hands, now free, get to work unbuttoning his shirt. Within a few moments, his pants are down and his shirt is open, and only the thin fabric of his underwear separates us. I look up at him and see him staring down at me with intensity; I make a few more seconds of eye contact with him while I lower his waistband. 

Waiting for me is his huge erection, and my mouth waters at the sight of it. I wrap one hand around its base, and start bathing the head with my tongue. He lets out a soft little groan, and the sound of his pleasure sets my head spinning. I place both of my hands on his hips, and wrap my lips around his cock, taking the whole thing in my mouth. I inhale a deep breath through my nose and keep pushing down, opening up the back of my throat until my lips are wrapped around the base, and his soft groaning turns into heavier grunting. 

I start sucking harder, bobbing my head up and down, keeping my hands on his hips at first to help me get a rhythm going. Then I slide one hand to the base of his cock, creating a ring with my thumb and forefinger and squeezing. And then my other hand slides up his thighs and finds his testicles, gripping them gently and giving them soft squeezes in sync with my mouth’s movements. 

Now that I think I’ve gotten my full technique up and running, I’m able to take a moment to appreciate what’s happening here. His head is thrown back and his mouth is wide open, grunty breaths coming out at regular intervals. I feel his hip muscles start to flex, and he starts thrusting lightly into my mouth. In the first few moments, he shoves in too deep and I gag a bit, but we quickly find our rhythm again. He starts to increase speed, his grunts turn to moans, and I can tell he’s getting close.

“Oh, fuck,” he cries out. “Fuck, that’s perfect. Yes, you take it. Take it all!” And a few moments later, he’s letting out a long wail and filling my mouth with his seed. I lighten up my pressure a little, but I keep bobbing my head, keep the suction going, making sure every single drop goes down my throat. 

When I finally let go and look up at him, he’s still got his head thrown back, his bare chest heaving. I realize how much I hunger to touch his skin, and I slide my hands up his belly and grab a firm hold of his chest. I want to stand up and look him in the eyes, but first I want him to give me a signal that’s it’s OK. After a few more moments, he lays his hands on top of mine and grabs my wrists again, pulling me up to standing. 

He gives me a little smile, and I look back at him expectantly, not knowing what he’s likely to do next. When he reaches his hands up to the back of my head and kisses me intensely, I go completely unhinged, almost instantly. It had been so many months, and my body had been aching for *someone’s* touch for so long. But someone this intoxicating? I can hardly handle it. I moan into his mouth and grab at his face, before returning my hands to his chest and pressing against him. After a few minutes of this, he tears his mouth away from mine and looks at me, his eyes afire, his breath heavy. I drink in the smell of him and relish the warmth of his body as we hold each other, catching our breath.

I take a risk and speak first. “What just happened?” I ask.

He laughs a little at that. “I think you passed your entrance exam,” he answers. They way he says that, I know that we’re done here. And I am oddly OK with it. If he wanted to stick around and go a few more rounds, of course I’d be down for it. But in this moment, giving this man intense pleasure, expecting nothing in return—it's exactly what I want. I give him another quick kiss, and step back so that he has room to put his pants together again. 

My head is swimming with questions, but I do my best to play it cool. “So,” I start. “You’re going to Los Angeles.”

He nods. “That’s the plan. I should be passing back this way in about a week. And I’ll stop here and pick you up, if… you still want me to.”

“Absolutely,” I say. “You say I passed my exam. Does that mean… we’re done, here? Or will there be more of this at the Sanctuary?” 

He gives me this wicked little smile. “There will definitely be more of this,” he answers. 

He opens the door and crosses the main room of the shelter, back to the door to the room with the hatch. I stand there a little awkwardly as he puts his radiation suit back on. Right before he puts his helmet on, I stop him. 

“I… I don’t even know your name,” I say. 

He cocks his head, considering that. “Huh. Yeah. I guess we never really did proper introductions. I’m Michael Langdon,” he says, extending his hand to me.

I shake it, laughing. I give him my name, and sneak one more kiss before his snaps his helmet back on. He starts climbing the ladder and I watch him from down below. He looks down at me for a last time before he closes the hatch. 

A few moments later, I hear the whinny of horses again, a few times over the next few minutes, getting fainter each time. Until it’s silent again. 

I cross back over to my bedroom, astounded that he’d correctly predicted that everyone else in the shelter would stay asleep the whole time. _That’s a little weird, right?_ It is. Another red flag. But in this moment, I couldn’t care less. 

He’s coming back for me. Seven days and counting. I close my bedroom door, look up at the ceiling, and breathe deeply, replaying the last hour in my mind over, and over, and over. 


End file.
